


One More Chance VIII

by DancingHare



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 17:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13440018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingHare/pseuds/DancingHare
Summary: Memories of the crash.





	One More Chance VIII

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published July 7, 2008

_Most of the screaming had ceased, but the thick black smoke still lay over the clearing like a blanket. Vassanta still could not quite comprehend the enormity of the situation, even though her own eyes took it in. She’d seen her sister, an enormous bundle of cloth in her arms, hurrying over the sparking wreckage to another of the wounded. Vajarra had something to do, a tangible task that would have a result. Vassanta just felt lost and in the way._

She heard a man’s voice, and her heart leapt. But it wasn’t her father, somehow she knew that even before she saw him. It wasn’t fair, how could he have survived so long, the war on Draenor and the city’s fall, only for this? She hadn’t heard anything official, but from what little she’d overheard, the technicians were just as baffled as anyone. Another anchorite brushed past her, bearing a large jug of water. From the looks of things, they would be busy for days tending to the survivors. What a terrible word.

He was speaking to her. “You,” he barked, pointing to her, then a handful of others. “Come with me.” Blinking, she stood to follow him. She thought she recognized him now, from the training quarters in the Exodar. Judging from his armor at least, he was a seasoned Vindicator, and the enormous mace slung over his back reassured her. “We will scout the area. There have been rumors,” the Vindicator said brusquely, and they all glanced at one another. No one asked what sort of rumors.

It was more staggering to view the wreckage from afar, to see just how widely the impact had strewn across the formerly peaceful forest. The animals, perhaps disturbed by the noise or their unusual presence, proved to be hostile to their approach. They resembled things she had seen back home, but slightly different, adding to her feeling of surreality. The bird-creatures were the strangest of all, though they seemed to have some primitive intelligence. The Vindicator eyed them warily, and pressed on. It seems the bird-creatures were not the quarry they sought.

As they crested the ridge, she saw it. The gaudy red tents had been hastily erected and stood out brightly against the rich green hillside. It was a sin’dorei camp, but how had they come here? Vassanta frowned in thought, but she had no time to ask; the arrows had begun to fly at them from the cover of the camp. The party made quick work of them, but the bodies held no further clues. Undaunted, the Vindicator suggested they press onward; they flushed more blood elves from the hills, and a few attacked them along the trail as well, but they were prepared, and the elves struck only alone or in small groups. They were a disorganized force, at least for the time being.

Another island, larger than the first, awaited them to the north. Vassanta thought there was something strange about it, the vegetation looked sickly and the water was a funny color. But perhaps that’s just how water looked on this world. The Vindicator scratched his tendrils, and declared that they were establishing a base.

As the days passed, more survivors trickled in to help. Though while the outpost thrived, the land itself seemed to be dying. The plants withered and died, the earth turning an unnatural red, and the rivers darkened to the color of blood. Deadly ravagers, freed from the Exodar’s holds, were devouring the native animals with alarming ferocity. Most troubling of all, the blood elves seemed to increase in number daily, and they showed signs of organization; a crop of tents sprouted like mushrooms overnight just outside of the outpost.

Again Vassanta was tasked with this duty, probably not so much as a reflection of her skill, but she looked like she needed something to do. The Vindicator was vague. “Find out what you can,” he grunted, pushing a sword into her hands. “And take this.”

In truth, she was relieved to have the chance to fight something after cooling her heels for so long — something other than unruly wildlife, at least. She’d since learned that a few of the sin’dorei had hitched along on the Exodar, but that didn’t explain how their numbers were rising. The island was too remote for them to sail here in such a short time. Maybe a portal of some sort, Vassanta frowned, crouching on a rocky rise. She dispatched a few of the sentries around the edge of the camp, relishing the weight of the blade as she struck. Careful not to draw the attention of the others, she quickly searched the elf’s belongings. Nothing there, Vassanta realized as she scowled in frustration. She’d just have to search the whole island.

It was no use sticking to the road, even the sin’dorei weren’t foolish enough to be so obvious. Vassanta considered a moment before she veered off the road to the north-west, toward a range of tall hills. She’d seen some animals, a bear or two and some enormous insects that appeared to be peaceful; nothing she couldn’t handle. But beyond that, she had no idea what might lurk in those hills.

It wasn’t long before she stumbled across another nest of blood elves, these huddled around the smoldering remains of the cryo-core. Vassanta wasn’t sure what draw it held for them, but it certainly wasn’t powering anything in its current state. Further north, the terrain grew more difficult, and enormous spined spiders crouched in wait behind every bush and boulder. They reminded her of the ones she’d seen in Terokkar, but still their beady black eyes were unsettling. She had nearly reached the beach, and had found no sign nor clue of the blood elves’ mysterious arrival. She squinted up into the red-streaked sky at the single sun. She was still learning, but Vassanta was certain she had a few hours’ worth of good light left. She’d cross the beach to the north and then work her way down the eastern edge of the island.

She wouldn’t have noticed them at all, but the wind shifted in that moment, bringing with it the scent of burning wood. A fire, and that meant a camp, Vassanta realized, unsheathing her blade. Maybe this camp would lead her to a clue. She approached carefully, trying to get an idea of the surroundings. The area was heavily wooded, and trees obscured much of her view. It would be impossible to tell exactly how many elves might be hiding out of sight.

Vassanta frowned, drawing out her crossbow instead, balancing a bolt on its bar. It would still be dangerous, but at least she stood a chance of escaping should they overwhelm her. With a steady hand, she lifted it, peered through the sights, and squeezed. The bolt struck the elf on the left squarely, and he uttered a cry of pain and alarm — but he didn’t go down. Snorting, Vassanta reached for her sword as the second elf ran toward her. The first elf, the crossbow bolt still protruding, grimaced and got to his feet. How could he still be standing? That shot had been true. Vassanta snarled, swinging the sword at the charging elf, ringing loudly off his armor. She heard the whir of an arrow rush past; the wounded elf had drawn a bow and was firing at her. That’s just great, she grimaced, ducking a sweeping stroke from the elf’s sword. They were more athletic, stronger than all of the others she had faced, yet they looked no different. An arrow lodged into her thigh, sending searing pain up her left side as she staggered back, trying to keep her footing. The second elf took the advantage, rushing forward and knocking her off her hooves. Gasping in pain, Vassanta raised her right hoof to try and kick at the elf, but he easily danced out of reach, moving to her arms. What was he doing? He barked an order to the wounded elf, gesturing him over. Vassanta moved to rise again, but the elf placed a gaudy boot on her chest, and sneered down at her in triumph. His accomplice quickly wrapped her wrists in a leather strap, then moved to bind her ankles as well, like a creature tied for the spit.

_So they were keeping her alive, but for what?_


End file.
